


The Flowers on Lilly Lane

by WaywardSister24601



Category: Good Omens (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Crossover, Death, Destiel - Freeform, Gay, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Post-Canon, Sad, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?, i am very bad at writing, no beta we die like real men, post show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:22:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardSister24601/pseuds/WaywardSister24601
Summary: Dean has been stealing flowers from his neighbors for 6 months now. But today he was caught, and his mysterious and overly polite neighbors want to know who the flowers are for. How can he tell them them the truth? (inspired by a Tumblr prompt I saw, lol)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 115





	The Flowers on Lilly Lane

**Author's Note:**

> Just a warning, I didn't read through this or edit it before posting. I just didn't want to leave it sitting there. I am VERY bad at writing, but I like the story concept. If anyone has any suggestions on how to make it better/how to write well at all, please let me know! Thanks for clicking on this dumb story of mine!

Dean leaned down and plucked a few flowers from his neighbor’s garden. He tried to be quick so that whoever lived in the house wouldn’t notice. 

2460 Lilly Lane grew the largest and prettiest flowers in all of Provincetown, Massachusetts. Every blossom was bright and beautiful, not a single dead leaf or twig out of place. Dean often remarked on how it was almost like magic, which is why he was extra careful about taking them.

Dean hardly ever stole anything anymore. Aside from a flag featuring a political figure that he disliked and the odd candy bar, he had cleaned up his ways. After the gates of hell had been sealed and God was finally taken care of, he finally felt that it was time to leave the vampires and werewolves to the younger hunters. He had gotten a job, a house, and even a dog. He was content. 

Until it finally happened.

Dean brushed away the thought of that night. It wouldn’t help to dwell on it for too long, it would just make it hurt more. Sam disagreed with that mindset, but he was in Kansas with his wife of five years, Eileen, and his kids, Dean and Charlie, so he couldn’t do much to help. Just the daily phone call and a letter containing finger paintings from his niece and nephew every once in a while.

Dean stood up with a handful of flowers, plucked from behind a bush so that it didn’t look suspicious, and came face-to-face with a tall man who had red hair and sunglasses. The man was wearing all black, snake-skin shoes, and he had a small snake tattoo on his neck. His face seemed calm, but Dean could tell that he was fuming by looking at his hands, which were clenched into white knuckled fists. 

He was obviously the owner of the house and the flowers. Dean muttered a string of curse words under his breath. He had hoped that a nice old lady owned the place, not a 40-year-old man who looked like a retired stripper. 

“Uh… hi,” Dean stammered, unsure if he should stay or run, “sorry about that, I’ll pay for the damages.” Dean looked away from the red-haired man and down at the bouquet in his hands. He felt deflated, and somehow worse than before. 

“No need, young man, just tell me what you are doing with my flowers. Then we can…chat about the consequences.” The man’s strange choice of words and chilly tone worried Dean to the point that he was almost reaching for his angel blade, worried that he could be a monster in hiding. It had been a while, but Dean had kept his training up and firmly believed that he could take the scrawny man down. But before he could reach the knife, another voice called from the doorway of the house.

“Crowley, dear, what in heave- I mean, what on Earth are you doing?” 

“Angel, let me deal with this, you go back inside,” the scrawny man’s (Crowley, the other one had called him) demeanor changed when he answered his angel. His face softened and his hands loosened. He smiled slightly, and then turned back to Dean who recognized the look. 

Love.

“I’m sorry, my… friend is much too polite to thieves. Now, answer my question, what are you doing with my flowers?” 

Dean had almost forgotten about the lilies in his hand and attempted to hand them Crowley. 

“You know, I had a buddy once with the same name. Pronounced it differently, though. I like yours better. Now, I don’t mean to trouble you or your husband. Sorry.”

Dean started to walk off, thinking about if the store was still open so that he could pick up one of those cheap roses, when he heard Crowley call out to him.

“You wouldn’t mind coming in for tea, would you?”

Dean sat at the counter of the house on Lilly street, slightly nervous but overall thankful that he hadn’t been beaten up. He learned that the other man’s name was Aziraphale (odd name, but Dean had heard worse) and he had also learned that he made a damn good cup of tea. Dean would rather have had a beer, but this was fine too.

“I’m so sorry about Crowley’s behavior. His flowers are his pride and joy, but he doesn’t need to get so worked up about one or two going missing. He can be a bit of a drama queen at times. Don’t look at me like that, dear, you know that I’m right! Do you need anything else? Sugar, a biscuit, scones?”

Dean felt slightly overwhelmed. Aside from Sam and his coworkers, Dean hadn’t had much human interaction in the past few months. Kindness was still foreign to him, but Aziraphale was giving it away like it was no big deal. Even Crowley had lightened up a bit, and he almost beamed when Dean said that he liked his car, an old Bentley that was in perfect condition. 

Crowley sat down next to Dean with his own cup of tea, and said, “now, I’m sorry that I came off a little rude earlier, but for pete’s sake could you tell me why you were taking flowers for my garden.”

“It’s… complicated. I’d rather not get into it.” Dean set down his half-drunk mug and grabbed his jacket. 

“it was great meeting the two of you, but I am kind of on a schedule. I have a promise to keep.”

Crowley sighed and stood up as well. He grabbed his own coat and his car keys that were laying… Well, Dean didn’t really see him pick them up, but he must have missed it because they were now in Crowley’s hands.

“I don’t mean to be a stick in the mud, but I’d rather that I drive you to them. I’m assuming that the flowers were for a significant other, whoever he, she, or they may be. Well, I’d like to see if they warrant flower stealing. Where to now?”

Dean froze, stunned by the generosity, and petrified by fear. What was he going to tell him? And how had he known that he wasn’t straight. Was it that obvious?

“Umm, that won’t be necessary…” 

“No, I insist!” Aziraphale said, in a chipper tone, “Crowley can get you there in half the time it takes to walk, and it’s getting rather dark.”

Realizing that he was playing a losing game, Dean shrugged and sighed in defeat.

“Thanks, man, that’s real nice of you.” The fake smile must have been convincing, because Aziraphale’s smile widened, and Crowley looked both satisfied and mildly annoyed. 

“I’m not nice, Dean,” Crowley waved to Aziraphale and walked-no not walked-strutted out the door and to his car. 

Dean followed slowly, trying to stretch out the time it took to make it to their final destination. He finally made it to the car, which was even cooler up close but still nothing compared to his Baby and sat down in the passenger’s seat. He wiped his sweating palms on his blue jeans.

“So, who is this lucky person? And where do they live?” Crowley rather liked this flower thief. He was already planning 

“His… his name is Cas. He… just take a left here. I’ll give you directions.” Dean kept his composer, and he stared straight ahead, know that if he looked over at Crowley he might break down.

“Alrighty, then! So, Dean, who are you? What do you do? I’d like to get to know you better before Aziraphale invites you over for dinner.” 

A harmless question, really, but Dean took a while to answer. Who was he? Even he didn’t know anymore. But he could answer the other question.

“I’m a mechanic at the body shop on Cork Street. I specialize in older cars, mostly anything before the 90s. What about you?”

“I don’t work, but Aziraphale owns the bookshop downtown. He opened it up right after we moved to America from London. The price for shipping all of the books over was insane, but Zira insisted that we do it the huma… I mean, the safer way.”

Dean didn’t notice the slip up. In fact, he hardly noticed what Crowley was saying. He was too nervous. What was he going to say when they arrived? What was he going to do?

“So, Mr. Winchester, tell me about this Cas. I still would like to know who my flowers are for.”

“Cas… he’s… well, he’s… perfect. He has saved my life more times than I can count. He has dark hair, which is always messy. He never takes off his dumb ass trench coat. And he has piercing blue eyes, which look like the sky on a summer’s day. He’s kind, and strong, and… beautiful.” Dean felt a tear start to slip down his cheek. Why the fuck did he just say all of these things to a total stranger. It felt like Chuck was still writing his life and couldn’t figure out another way to convey how much love he has for that dumb ass angel.

“Well, he sounds lovely. I can’t wait to meet him.” Crowley had that smile again, and just from that smile Dean could imagine the light in his eyes, even though they were hidden behind his dark sunglasses. He was thinking about Aziraphale again.

Dean smiled slightly, but then he saw where they were.

“Stop here.” 

“Here? But this is… oh.” Crowley parked the car in the deserted parking lot, and Dean climbed out.

“I’ll be right back.”

The gate creaked as it opened, as it had done every day for the past 6 months. He passed headstones of long dead families and unknown soldiers. He kept walking, having memorized the route, until he stood in the hill in the middle of the cemetery.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean crouched down next to the gravestone, replacing the flowers from the day before with the fresh ones from Crowley, “how are ya?”

Then, Dean sat down, and cried. He cried for lost love, from kindness that he didn’t deserve, and from how much time he wasted pining for Cas before he finally admitted his feelings. They could have years together, not just one. But, God, it had been the best year of Dean’s life. 

He stood up after a few minutes, standing in the soil that had been packed down and had started to grow grass. He glanced down at the stone one last time, rereading the inscription.

Castiel Winchester. 1982-2020. Loving husband, brother, and friend. “I’m proud of you”

Dean still didn’t like the quote that Sam had chosen. After the Empty took Cas, he had been so depressed that he barely talked to anyone. He only left the house for the funeral and the burial, and even then, Sam had to practically drag him out of the house. Even now Dean never did anything but work, grocery shopping, and going to the cemetery. He still couldn’t wrap his head around what had happened. 

Dean could see Crowley through the window of the car. He had taken off his glasses, and he was cleaning them. There seemed to be tear tracks on his face, but Dean didn’t notice them. All he saw were Crowley’s yellow eyes. They almost looked like the eyes of a Prince of Hell, but different, more snake like. If it had been any other time, Dean would have taken the blade from his pocket and quickly kill the man, but he couldn’t. 

Dean didn’t care about living anymore. He hadn’t for a long time.  
The man who had once saved the world climbed into the car, ready for the end. He sat quietly with the demon for a minute or two, waiting for him to strike, when suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m… I’m sorry mate. I never would have thought…”

“Just shut up, man. I know what you are, and I don’t care. Do you want me to give you my demon blade or something? Just get it over with.”

Crowley looked startled, which Dean was not expecting. He took his hand off of Dean’s shoulder and placed it on the steering wheel.

“So, you’re a hunter, I presume? I’ve heard of you lot, but I thought it was just a myth. No, I am not going to kill you. You see, I rebelled from hell. Not in some big, flashy way. But I rebelled for… for love. Hell has no power over me here. Much like heaven has no power over Aziraphale.”

Dean’s face changed from despair into confusion. A demon who rebelled? An angel who rebelled, but didn’t fall? He grabbed onto his necklace, a blue gem with Cas’s name engraved on the back and sank into the seat of the car.

“Cas was an angel, too. He rebelled from heaven for me and my brother many years ago. He… he died because of me.”

Now it was Crowley’s turn for confusion. He had so many questions, but he felt like it wasn’t the best time to answer any of them. Instead, he turned the key of the ancient car that started playing “Dear Friends” by Queen (of course) and drove away. He dropped Dean off at his house, but before closing the door, he said, “Dean, you shouldn’t blame yourself, no matter what happened. You need to stay alive, for him. He would want you to live.” 

Crowley drove away, and Dean walked into his dark house, hopeful for the first time in a long time. 

When he arrived home, Crowley kissed Aziraphale on the forehead, and went to make a call. Crowley only had 3 contacts on speed dial. Aziraphale’s, Anathema Device, and…

“Adam, could you lend me a favor?”


End file.
